113

by kvennarad

The old drowsy day-cat opens

one eye. When we look at the

reflet, the shimmer, we forget

:

the river underneath, the depth

of water, the banality of drinking,

we are nine-parts river ourselves,

:

and we see only a dawn ritual,

the bell-and-pomegranate of a

robe. There’s a woman who

:

knows the zigzag nature of her

life, a succession of readings

pulling her on minute tackings,

:

that make a larger dogleg, that

turns into a crack on the face of

the world, that she gives in to

:

these and goes through them as

another kind of ceremony, “Let

me be this,” seized from thin air.

__________

©Marie Marshall. “Dinnae be feart o’ wee beasties.”

I almost forgot – the Autumn 2017 Showcase at the zen space is now published.